


Never Jam Today

by Barb Cummings (Rahirah)



Series: The Barbverse [70]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M, Food Kink, Food Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-01
Updated: 2012-12-01
Packaged: 2017-11-20 00:37:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/579371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rahirah/pseuds/Barb%20Cummings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Buffy and Spike eat cheesecake and have sex.  What, you need more plot than that?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never Jam Today

**Author's Note:**

> This story takes place in the same universe as _A Raising In the Sun,_ et al.

When Buffy was sixteen, she had curves - modest ones, but they did the job. By her nineteenth birthday, she was lathe-thin, all softness burnt away in the insatiable furnace of Slayerness. Even magic couldn't make something out of nothing, and the energy for super-strength and stamina and ultra-fast healing had to come from somewhere. She could have traded in the low-fat yogurt for a T-bone with all the trimmings, but in some perverse way, that felt like admitting the Slayer in her had won.

She's on much better terms with her inner Slayer these days, but giving in to appetite still feels... sinful. Indulgent. Wanton, even. Of course, part of that could be the delivery.

Her heart's pounding, her breath coming in shallow gasps as Spike's fingers work her clit. He's kept her teetering on the edge for what feels like eternity. Right now he's humming to himself as he spoons jam over the last slice of cheesecake - a little clumsy with his right hand, so the jam glops instead of drizzling, strawberry sweetness soaking through the paper plate. He glances her way and grins, licking his fingers.

"Spike - please - "

The hum deepens to a rumble she can feel right through to her bones, and those clever fingers plunge into her sopping depths, the heel of his left hand keeping the pressure on her clit. Her arms go taut in the handcuffs. Spike forks up a bite of cheesecake and leans closer; in the candlelight his pupils are inky wells of lust. "Please what, love? 'Please let me go, Spike?'"

"Gnng."

He lets up long enough for her to catch her breath. "No? What, then? 'Please let me come, Spike?'"

"Yes!"

"Ah, then you know what you need to do, don't you, pet?"

Jam drips onto her bare breasts, mingling with her sweat. She's not going to count the crumb-smeared paper plates littering the bedclothes already. Buffy whimpers. "I can't. Too full."

"Can't?" he purrs. "Or shouldn't?"

It's the same thing, isn't it? Her urges have always been suspect - giving in to them's led to disaster more than once. Denial is a girl's best friend. But Spike's abandoned her pussy entirely now, his free hand roving over her thighs, slipping up to draw voluptuous curlicues with her own juices across her oh-so-full belly. His cock's standing up hard and ready, little drops of pearl beading on the slit, but the hand holding the fork never wavers. It's the last slice, and she needs those fingers back where they belong. Her lips part, surely of their own accord. "Please can I have some more?"

To hell with forks; he picks up the whole slice, jam and all, and feeds it to her one-handed, teasing her clit the while. Frantic, she licks the last vestige of creamy velvety crumbly strawberry goodness from his fingers, and at last, at last he slides inside. She comes almost before he's fully sheathed, so hard the bed creaks and shivers beneath them, oak and iron bending under the force of her desire. Plates flutter to the floor, the handcuffs snap, and Spike loses his rhythm for a moment - pulls himself together with a growl and picks up again, deep slow surging thrusts that rock the whole bed. 

By all rights she ought to feel bloated and barfy and gross, but instead she's deliriously happy, so brimful of Spike and cheesecake that every thrust sets off a little aftershock of pleasure, building and building till she comes again, and takes him with her. Spike pulls out, still half-hard, and she hears the crunch of bone as his features shift. The pain of his fangs turns to bright hot melting ecstasy in the afterglow; his cock's still slick with her, and she reaches down, handcuffs jingling, to bring him off again as he sates himself on rich Slayer blood.

Afterwards Spike curls lazy around her, licking blood and jam off her breasts. Buffy leans into him, awfully close to purring herself. She's got curves again, these days - modest ones, but they do the job. She's not sure she's quite ready to admit it yet, but little by little, she's starting to enjoy them as much as Spike does. "OK, now I _really_ have to be good for the rest of the week."

Spike just chuckles. (He's looking nicely sleek these days, too.) It could be prosaic, all this - feeding the Slayer furnace. Or a chore. Calories in, calories out. Spike, unabashed hedonist that he is, makes it... sinful. Indulgent. Wanton, even. 

And this way? Everybody wins.

**End**


End file.
